


Margate

by HazelNMae



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:31:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelNMae/pseuds/HazelNMae
Summary: My Episode 1 response fic. Because I still can't get over it.





	Margate

The sand crunched under his feet as he walked away--the wind the only other sound he could recall hearing.

But for some reason he’d never understand, he stopped. He watched the blood run down his arm, each drop spreading through the grains of sand below his feet. He took note of the sun, high above. The salt that had somehow already coated the exposed skin of his face and hands. 

After a few moments, too long really, he made up his mind to turn back. He cursed himself quietly as he walked toward the dark lump on the beach, trying to steel himself for what he knew he’d find.

His last few steps approaching Alfie’s lifeless body were slow ones. Drawn out, really. As if time stood still. He wished it had.

He was suddenly aware of his own heartbeat. Of the fact that his breath had grown heavy. The sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Tommy fell to his knees, unable to process it.

He’d shot him. Had killed him. And for what?

Alfie lay before him. Blood covering his face, pooling in the sand beneath his head. Tommy thought about the blood they’d both shed on that beach. The fact that he’d given so little compared to Alfie.

He’d forgiven Alfie’s betrayals, more than once. Had appreciated his lectures, as much as he hadn’t wanted to hear them in the moment. Knew, definitively, that Alfie was the only person who truly understood him--who shared in both his relentless ambition and horrible trauma from the war. Alfie was a rival and a partner in business. He was a friend in life. 

As he knelt by Alfie’s body, searching for the words he should say, Cyril nosed his elbow.

“Whoa, boy,” he said reflexively, “that one’s all bloody.”

He pulled the dog away and looked at him for the first time. His round sad eyes, his disappointed expression, his larger than life stature--it was Alfie’s dog alright.

And in that moment, Tommy realized what he needed to do. 

It wasn’t about what he said. Nothing he could say would bring Alfie back. He’d wanted to go and had seen to it that it was Tommy who sent him out. To say anything now would dishonor Alfie’s wishes. Would try to make sense of something Tommy knew he’d never be able to explain.

No, words wouldn’t fix a damn thing. 

So he said no words.

He simply stood, took Cyril by the leash, and led him home.


End file.
